


Aftershocks

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Discussion of sexual assault, F/M, Fluff, No HYDRA Takeover, Smut, based on episode 'yes men', christmas fest fic, john garrett is a normal so, season one based au, warning: a vague description of panic attack, yes all of that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9051772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: "When something so bad happens, of course you remember it. It comes back – it just does."





	

**Author's Note:**

> At first I had a completely different idea to write for this little fest. It was smutty and fluffy and angst free, but then a discussion about "Yes men" happened. 
> 
> Expect another chapter in couple of days, because we're not done here. I'm sorry about my delay in posting, RL happened. Merry Christmas to you all!

Never pack more stuff than what fits into a reasonable sized suitcase. Grant thought about those words, unable to find a flaw with the practicality of John's advice. It was stern, just like his SO was, but it made sense for the kind of life he was leading. Right now he was hauling a duffel bag along with his reasonably sized suitcase, which has gotten only bigger over the last year. (If only Fitzsimmons would stop babying him – and Coulson encouraging them – and John agreeing). He paused by the ramp that separated the housing complex of the SHIELD base and the adjoining field where currently the bus was parked.

 

Grant looked at the key in his hand and put it back in his pocket. It was cold. He should wear a goddamn padded jacket. Simmons is right. It's freaking December. _Listen to the little lady doctor, son_ ; he could practically hear John say.

 

He stubbornly continued towards the aircraft, having no intention to use the tiny house he's been provided with. Between sterile interior colloquially known as “crappy SHIELD hotel for agents” and tiny bunk with all of his books, he was choosing the latter.

 

Books. His awesome books. And the bunk, which was _his own_. On his own. He had worse Christmases.

 

The ramp was lowered, per Coulson's instructions and Grant wondered if the guy was really able to read all of them, as John claimed. It was annoying if it was true; Grant didn't like being predictable, but he wasn't going to spend next three days in one of those sterile, grey looking holes with a plastic Christmas tree. So he climbed the ramp and to his dismay, instantly realized he wasn't alone.

 

It wasn't so much the cargo bay – nothing looked out of place he just had a feeling someone else was here too – but when he climbed the circular staircase and saw the decorations, he knew who stayed behind.

 

It was Skye.

 

Okay, he was fine with that. His heart _wasn't_ beating any faster.

 

With any luck he will still be able to read a book and have some quiet downtime.

 

Or, scratch that. He could hear unspecified Christmas songs of the tacky sort coming from the speakers. He sighed, smiled (because nobody could see him) and proceeded to leave his baggage inside his bunk. A moment later he walked to the kitchen and found Skye hanging up those tiny flickering lights while standing on the kitchen counter. He startled her although he honestly didn't mean to.

 

“Ward!” she yelled and he could see the flush on her cheeks and slight embarrassment (which she was going to mask with pretend – anger), and honestly he could kick himself for it.

 

“I'm sorry! Before you start, uh -”

 

“Yelling at you because you totally deserved it? I could have fallen from -”

 

She was going to get down to pick up the garland, but he beat her to it. “Here,” he said.

 

She gave him a fake stern look. “Thanks.” Hanging up the lights was a lot easier task when two of them were doing it. By the end of their task Skye's ire was gone. She was glancing at him curiously.

 

“What?”

 

“Didn't think you'd come back here, Mister Superagent.”

 

Right. Because ever since.... Las Vegas, he wasn't too keen on spending any kind of free time with the team. He didn't think about it – didn't want to think about it, any of it. He just felt he wanted the whole thing to go away, and it was going away a lot easier if he wasn't around for the games of scrabble and by the way comments or questions how he was feeling. He was feeling fine until nothing reminded him of the whole thing.

 

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, looking at the kitchen cupboards and down at the counter and basically anywhere but at her. Hopefully she wouldn't start asking how he was. He wanted to stay. “All my books are here.”

 

He expected her to make a joke out of it, call him boring or something similar, but she gave him this unexpected, quiet look, which she quickly covered up with a smile. “I'm not a big reading person, but I can totally see the appeal of that over.... well.” She gestured in the vague direction of the base's living area. Grant made a face. In reality he was happy he could shift attention to her.

 

“They offered one to you too?”

 

She nodded. “Too much, uh. Saint Agnes for my taste.”

 

_Oh._

 

He didn't say anything because he couldn't really think of anything that would be good enough. The silence stretched for a couple moments more after which he decided to tactically divert the conversation.

 

“Well, if you don't mind me crashing in...”

 

“Geez I don't know, Ward. You gotta make it up for me somehow because you scared the living crap outta me.”

 

“Okay,” he said, grinning, actually seeing on her expression how a plan formed in her mind.

 

*

 

An hour later he was halfway through making a lunch for them, while Skye was busy making cupcakes under his supervision. He was never an expert for cakes, but cupcakes he could make. The first batch Skye deemed _cute,_ however he had to stop her from eating half of them right now. She was practically bouncing around him even though she was obviously trying to temper her excitement. Grant wondered was it possible that her Christmases were worse than his own.

 

Grant also wondered how he didn't figure out that he missed this. It's been two months since Vegas and he was sort of starved for company.

 

An hour later they had a late lunch, Grant gathered up the dishes, Skye washed them. Just when he sat down she came into living room carrying wine and two glasses.

 

“Don't look at me like that,” she said, taking a seat on the cozy couch as well. “This is supposed to be the fancy drink.”

 

Grant glanced at the bottle and smirked. “Well, I am sure Coulson is going to agree. Especially if he doesn't find _any_ of it later.”

 

“He's gonna survive,” Skye smirked back and offered him a glass, then raised her own. “Cheers?”

 

He looked at her, feeling a bit at loss for words again. “Cheers,” he said.

 

 

*

 

Some time later the bottle was practically gone. The wine wasn't that strong, but Skye was talking more than she usually did, and he found he was laughing more easily. There was definitely a buzz. He wasn't drunk, not even close; but he was nicely warm all over and relaxed. Almost as if everything loosened, both his mind and his body as he let Skye chat away. She was purposefully trying to entertain him, to make him laugh, and the way she was looking at him while twirling a lock of her hair managed to loosen his tongue too.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

She grinned and just looked for a moment longer and he just stared. There was a voice in his head telling him that he shouldn't – shouldn't be sitting this close to her or drinking in the way she was playing with her hair, and he was sure that voice had a perfectly good reason.

 

Only he couldn't remember it.

 

“It's... so nice when you're like this,” she said.

 

“Like what?” he asked, as if he didn't know what she meant. He just wanted to hear it from her.

 

She kept looking at him, all soft, round eyes and a smile as if she was looking for something on his face. Then her smile brightened and he wondered if he was ever going to be able to guess what was going on in her head. “Like some next door guy... not a super spy agent dude who constantly frowns,” she said and by now he knew it was purposefully over the top and he laughed a little. “You're so nice when you smile. I could kiss you,” she sad.

 

She was laughing, and he knew that she wasn't laughing _at_ him, she was laughing because she felt good; she felt good enough to be like this, relaxed and funny and _happy_. In some kind of alcohol – happiness induced haze he leaned forward and kissed her.

 

The magic lasted for a moment, while his lips were fully pressed against hers, until he realized he had to pull back and look at her. And sure, he ruined it, didn't he; he ruined the nice moment they were having, and now it was going to be weird because he couldn't stop himself.

 

Except.

 

She was looking at him wide eyed in some manner that stopped him in his tracks, stopped both his mind and his breath and all he could do was _be_ there.

 

And then she was kissing him.

 

Her lips were _back_. If he didn't know how to breathe a moment before, he sure was lost now. But maybe he didn't need to, all he needed was to kiss her back as she moved her mouth against his and pulled him closer to her and then she was climbing him and settling in his lap. Her mouth was opening, slanting over his in a way that short circuited his brain and he could feel her tongue and her teeth and couldn't get enough.

 

She was unbuttoning his shirt. Things were progressing so quickly, it surely wasn't wise. She was his trainee. He was her supervisor. She was undoing his pants and he was sliding his palms under her sweater, and he didn't want to stop, he _desperately_ didn't want to stop.

 

She did, though, to catch her breath and smile at him.

 

“Wow,” she said, in a way that made his ego helplessly inflate. He wasn't the boasting type, he didn't even think much of himself as a guy-in-bed or any similar context, except Skye was looking at him like he was _the best_. Then she kissed him slowly, like she wanted to remember this. Commit the way they were kissing to memory.

 

“Wow, what?” he asked, because he was greedy and wanted to hear what she was going to say. Wanted to feel.... validated, he realized.

 

Her smile brightened.

 

“Tell me why we didn't do this before, because,” she kissed him again, sweet and long and deep, “because this is so awesome. You're awesome.”

 

“I'm awesome?” he nipped at her lower lip.

 

She hummed into another kiss and it turned into a moan. His hands were still near the hem of her sweater and his pants halfway buttoned.

 

“I'd like to see just _how_ awesome,” she said, putting her finger against his lips and gently pushing it inside his mouth. He had to close his eyes for a moment.

 

“Wanna stay here or...?”

 

“Bunk,” she decided. “This couch is too square shaped for my taste.”

 

He laughed and somehow they got up. His bunk was closer so there they went and Skye closed the door just to push him against it. Except he was tall and she was smaller than him, but she was pushing and pulling him and it was.... God, it _was_.

 

She got rid of his clothes and he sat on the bed as she got rid of hers. The semi darkness was good because he could barely stand to look at her getting naked; but then she was standing between his parted legs and pulling his face close for a kiss and he could touch her, and dear God, this was reality. This was really happening.

 

“You're so hot, it's ridiculous,” she said as he dropped on the bed and she climbed over him. He wanted to tell her she was hot too, but he was reduced to undignified sounds. She was sliding, wet and warm, against him. He was sure he should have provided her with some kind of foreplay, except the whole evening was just that. (And not only the evening, it has been going on for a lot longer). She held her breath and he could feel himself sinking inside of her.

 

“Oh,” he managed as she took him in completely, her hands against his chest. “Oh, _Skye_.”

 

“You feel so good,” she said when she moved again and they remained like that, with her on top and moving and him supporting her as she gently rocked. He was about to lose his mind at the sight and the feel of her, the hair falling to the side, her expression, eyes half closed and mouth parted, her naked skin. The way she cried out every time he pushed his hips up and pounded into her, like ti felt really, really good.

 

He _had_ to have her under him. She didn't mind when he flipped them around, spread her legs and pushed himself inside. She rewarded him with a yes, with the sight of her arched neck and her breasts bouncing every time he pushed himself into her.

 

He was fucking Skye. He was fucking Skye and she was loving it, and everything was progressing _so quickly_ and it was just like the _last time_ when -

 

 _No_ , he thought, but it was already too late. It was already before his eyes, the hotel sheets, another woman and her neck and him losing control and he just couldn't stop himself -

 

“Grant?” her voice was different, different than the lustful yes and more she was saying to him just a moment earlier. He was panting above her and there was pain in the center of his chest and it felt sort of like it was going to seize him. “Grant, are you okay? Grant?”

 

It was the edge in her voice and the way she was looking at him, that snapped him out.

 

Worried. She was _worried_ about him.

 

“Grant?” she was now sitting up, the magic of the act from just a moment ago completely gone. Instead his chest was heaving and he was rubbing his eyes telling himself _he wasn't there_. _He wasn't there._

 

“Grant, what happened?” she asked again and he looked at her completely mortified. He was making her moan his name in one moment and in another he was sitting on the bed, fighting off a panic attack.

 

“I saw something,” he said. She was sitting up, her attention completely focused on him.

 

“You... remembered something?”

 

Her question was soft and tentative, her tone careful. Her hand was reaching out but she paused just a tad bit before touching him, and when he didn't move away, she placed her hand on his bicep. He looked at her, her eyes filled with concern and sympathy. He wondered how he looked and what she could see, what kind of mess, but instead of shutting him away she was inching closer. Skye was always inching closer, seeking a way through. He was completely mortified, but he remembered that she was there to see him wrecked after touching the Beserker staff, when he was a pitiful pile of helpless anger, and she still didn't turn away.

 

She offered him her shoulder instead. He declined.

 

Maybe if he didn't, he wouldn't be in this mess right now.

 

His natural instincts, almost all of them, were to curl in a ball. (How ironic, he thought). To wall himself up, distance himself, pull away. However, he found that wanting Skye, wanting to be close to her had an equally strong pull, and this was the second time when he felt open and raw and exposed and just wanted to fall.

 

His head screamed at him to go. To protect himself.

 

The rest of him wanted to accept the protection she was offering.

 

“I remembered something,” he said. Maybe he'd just try it out. Maybe, without actually telling her what he saw flashing in front of his eyes, or how Lorelei told him that he would never want another woman. How she ruined them all for him.

 

Skye pulled him into a hug. It was kind of awkward, with both of them naked and still flushed from sex and her body angled so that she could hold him. Somehow, her arms around him felt better than the sex did. If he would allow it, the tension would go away and he knew he would just give in.

 

If she asked, he'd tell her everything.

 

He was so tired of holding it in.

 

He _wanted_ to, so much.

 

“You don't have to talk, if you don't want to,” she was saying softly as he turned fully to her. She was kneeling and holding him and his chest was touching the soft expanse of her body. He could feel her hands in his hair, her lips wherever she could reach as he pushed his face against her shoulder, allowing himself to be comforted.

 

“It was – I remembered Vegas,” he said quietly. Her hands paused and then continued to stroke him slowly, and she held him tighter as if she was trying to take in all of the anxiety he was feeling. “I... was with her,” he said.

 

“It wasn't your fault, Grant,” she said. He _knew_ she would.

 

“I _wanted_ it,” he said. “She was... -” he was struggling to explain. The words wouldn't come at first but when he started talking, he couldn't stop. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't drugged, his mind felt clear and sharp and at that moment, he wanted it. Wanted to sleep with Lorelei and only with her. He felt like he wasn't himself and like it was the only thing he wanted, and after; after everything had passed he was left knowing that something – someone – could overtake him so completely. “I think about it now and I _know_ I wanted it.”

 

Skye pulled away just slightly, to press her forehead against his and look into his eyes. “Because she was _controlling_ you,” she said. Grant swallowed, feeling like the explanation, although it felt perfectly reasonable, was simply not enough.

 

“She ruined this too,” he said.

 

“No – no,” Skye was saying, holding his face between her hands. “Look – when something so bad happens, of course you remember it. It comes back – it just does. Trust me, Grant,” she was looking at him again. He felt weak, so spent and helpless and she seemed endless. So strong and confident and warm.

 

“I ruined the -” he was vaguely gesturing between them. Skye shook her head.

 

“God, no,” she said. “No. Sex is more than just getting an orgasm,” she said and he even chuckled at her bluntness and she smiled too. “We're together, and you're _wonderful,_ and I got to be naked with you and you're so stupidly hot I can't believe my luck,” she was saying and then he was laughing for real even though his emotions were still all over the place. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted this?”

 

“Wait – really?”

 

Skye bit her lip and then lightly kissed him.

 

“Yes, really,” she said, pulling him with her until they were laid side by side, facing each other. Grant watched as she pulled up the covers and then snuggled close. She wasn't talking – instead she was smiling and caressing his face and kissing him. She looked content and she looked happy, even though there was still worry in her eyes. “She can't ruin this for you. For us. She's not here, Grant. _You and I_ are.”

 

He took a deep breath, nodded and kissed her back, letting the conviction in her words seep into him.

 

“I guess you're right,” he said, watching as she looked at him softly.

 

“I am,” she smiled. “It's a thing, you know, called intrusive thoughts,” she said and when he gave her a puzzled look. “After I was shot, Coulson had me go see a shrink,” she shrugged. “He told me it could happen. And it did,” she said. When he looked at her worriedly, she continued, “I sometimes remember. Being shot. Calling for you guys. But you know what, it.... it's in the past. I won't let it define me,” she said.

 

He moved closer to kiss her and soothe her because now he could do that. Instead of lame, ridiculous attempts of bedside talk he could do what he always wanted to.

 

He kept kissing her, overcome with the need to help somehow. “I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner,” he was saying.

 

“But you came,” she said, kissing him back. “And you saved me, all of you.” They shifted, so she was under him again, her arms wound about his neck. He kept kissing her, until she was moaning softly into his mouth.

 

He could make her feel _good_ , he thought. That finally brought him out of his own headspace as he focused on her soft sounds and the way she felt under him, all soft and warm. His hands was sliding down her side and slipped between her legs and she parted them. When he pushed a finger into her, she arched lightly. She was still wet from before. He kept kissing her, intent now on giving her something. She was right – this was more than just sex, just fucking until both of them came; it was about two of them and how they could make each other feel and right now she was whispering wonderful, tender things and moaning his name as he pushed his fingers in and out of her.

 

She clutched him close as she came, her thighs tight around his arm. She kissed him right after, while her body was still shaking; and she was smiling, looking wrecked in the best way possible. “See? Like I said,” she was panting softly, looking utterly content and his chest filled with pride. “You're _wonderful_.”

 

He kissed her, deep, committing all of himself to this. Because he _could_. Because he could _choose_. Because all of him was still _here_.

 

“No, you're wonderful,” he said, snuggling close and settling into her embrace. He was still hard, but he was tired, he was spent and right now this was enough.

 

It was more than enough.

 


End file.
